


Intertwined

by Habie



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Wings, what if their wings cuddled together in a pocket dimension but they weren't conscious of it?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-15
Updated: 2019-10-15
Packaged: 2020-12-17 02:16:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,263
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21046658
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Habie/pseuds/Habie
Summary: Aziraphale turned it over in the light a few times, the black almost blue and purple at certain angles, perfectly shiny and cleaned and cared for.“Somebody loves you,” the girl in the shop had said.Aziraphale shook his head as if it could clear away the thought and dropped the probably-not-much-of-a-mystery feather on the nearest end table before returning to caring for his own wings.That won’t do, he told himself.That won’t do at all.





	Intertwined

**Author's Note:**

  * For [BusinessSocks](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BusinessSocks/gifts), [chocolatemudkip](https://archiveofourown.org/users/chocolatemudkip/gifts).

> This story came from a prompt chat group I'm in on twitter and it was so cute I had to do it! More on that at the bottom. Enjoy some fluff.

Angels didn’t sneeze. Or they weren’t supposed to, at least. They didn’t cough or react to allergens or fall sick— at least not the way humans understand illness.

Aziraphale thought about this, and how somebody should give his corporeal form a reminder sometime, as a fit of sneezes interrupted a retail transaction he was trying very hard not to complete.

“Bless you.”

“Excuse me. Yes, thank you. Where were we?”

“Three in a row. That means somebody’s in love with you.”

“I- what?” Aziraphale blinked at his would-be customer. She was pleasant enough, probably attending one of the universities in the city if he were to guess. And her taste in books was impeccable, which was proving to be a problem.

“That’s what they say, right? When someone sneezes three times? It’s supposed to mean that somebody loves you… or somebody is about to fall in love with you. Or that they’re talking about you. Or it’s either good or bad luck. Honestly I’ve heard it so many ways.”

“Is that so?” he responded slowly. “Well, let’s hope it’s not bad luck, then.”

“Fingers crossed,” she looked at the book she’d brought up to his register for a moment and then held it up a few inches. “Anyway, how much for this?”

Aziraphale glanced at it and took half a second to calculate the actual value, the personal value he’d placed on it as a piece of his collection, and a little consideration for the adoration that was radiating out of this young woman before answering with a number that somehow multiplied all of those values together.

“Oh,” her face fell. “That’s a little out of my budget, I’m afraid. Uni and all. If you don’t sell it, would it be possible for me to come back and just… read, sometime?”

“I think that would be fine, yes,” Aziraphale smiled as she handed him the hardcover.

“Well, in that case I will absolutely be back. Good luck with whoever is in love with you or your luck or allergies or whatever it turns out to be.”

As soon as the door clicked into place behind her Aziraphale turned the sign on the door to “Closed” and drew the shades before letting out a deeply-held breath. It was a little early, but he’d had enough near-sales for one day and he felt stiff and sore in a way that few others would really understand. Like being in desperate need of a good stretch while wearing a jacket that was just a bit too snug. Usually living among humanity was the most compelling perk of this assignment. Sometimes it was a cage.

Aziraphale stretched his neck right and left a few times and then his shoulders in a big round motion that did very little to relieve this particular tightness as he made his way to the bookshop’s back room, reshelving the almost-purchased volume on his way by. 

He plucked the cushion off of his favorite armchair and tossed it on the ground towards the center of the room with a little less care than the piece probably deserved. Continuing his back stretch routine, he followed the cushion and sat down on it with a quiet huff before letting his wings free.

They erupted into the room all at once, non-existent one moment and taking up eight feet of the store the next, knocking slightly into a lamp as the left wing appeared suddenly in a space that the lampshade had previously laid claim to.

Aziraphale sighed in contentment and continued to stretch, leaning forward, flexing his newly liberated wings to and fro, pushing his shoulders backward and forward. He watched with amusement and affection as the feathers rustled slightly, following along with the rest of his movements. If Aziraphale was being honest with himself, he knew he should do this more often; free his wings, give himself a good stretch, maybe even preen. He had the time, it wasn’t as if he kept regular shop hours. He just… didn’t. He would forget until he was too uncomfortable to ignore it, or he would get caught up in his books and his favorite restaurants. And it wasn’t as if anyone noticed; Gabriel didn’t do a wing check when he conducted unscheduled visits and Crowley never had any reason to see them.

Although, Crowley would have a few words if he ever saw the sorry state of them, Aziraphale thought.

He started methodically running his fingers through his right wing, straightening feathers, cleaning the more egregious spots, humming along with the music playing on his gramophone across the shop. This didn’t happen enough, it was true, but when he did get around to properly caring for his wings it was always a nice afternoon. Spa-like and zen, methodical and mindless self care. It felt good. It was always the same. Except…

Except usually every feather in his path was white.

He plucked the one odd black feather away from the rest easily — it wasn’t attached, he realized, which probably meant he hadn’t grown it. _Probably for the best,_ he didn’t want to think too hard on the implication of suddenly growing some odd black feathers. He definitely didn’t want to ask any other angels about that. But the list of places it could have come from was only so large. And he wasn’t sure when or how the dark feather could have gotten tangled up in his wings.

Aziraphale turned it over in the light a few times, the black almost blue and purple at certain angles, perfectly shiny and cleaned and cared for.

“Somebody loves you,” the girl in the shop had said.

Aziraphale shook his head as if it could clear away the thought and dropped the probably-not-much-of-a-mystery feather on the nearest end table before returning to caring for his own wings.

_That won’t do,_ he told himself. _That won’t do at all._

**

“I think the forces of evil are winning out, angel, you’ll have to increase your efforts.”

“That’s just how children are, I have the utmost confidence.”

He could feel the sideways look Crowley was giving him but refused to turn to face the demon, instead continuing to examine the painting in front of them. They hadn’t been to the museum in too long and Aziraphale planned to get every moment’s worth.

“You haven’t been around as much as I have, or as close,” Crowley tried again. “It would be impossible to avoid the apocalypse without a little cooperation.”

“That’s the nature of it, I’m afraid. The gardens need tending to less constantly than the boy, and you wanted to be his nanny as opposed to something more… arms-length. But I am confident that he will grow up to be a kind and good young man and shrug off any evil values you have been trying to instil in him.”

There was a dubious grunt and a smirk as they moved on to the next exhibit.

“But for the sake of discussion,” Aziraphale continued after some silent steps, “What would you suggest as an alternative alias— if I were to try to be as close to him as you are?”

Crowley hummed for a moment and rocked back onto his heels. “You’d make a decent tutor. And he’s getting to that age.”

“Hmm.”

The afternoon continued on as they wandered between exhibits, lacing pleasant smalltalk and nostalgic memories of past eras with the business of the decade, half forming a general plan for the next few years, half pretending that they were a perfectly normal not-angel and not-demon pair out for a museum day. Crowley suggested a theater for their next meeting. Aziraphale suggested stopping for a quick lunch before they continued to the next floor.

“Where do you suppose our wings go when we don’t have them… well… out?”

Crowley blinked over his coffee— or what passed for coffee here. “I don’t— I haven’t given it any thought. Why?”

Aziraphale shrugged. _I think ours may be **fraternizing** behind our backs,_ he thought. “No particular reason.” he said instead. “I just got to wondering a few days ago. Thought maybe you’d have wondered about it, too.”

“Pocket dimension of their own, maybe? I don’t know.”

“Maybe.”

**

Before Armageddon, Crowley didn’t spend much time in Aziraphale’s office and he saw no reason to make it a place to hang out now. Sure, he could more often and openly spend time with the angel without having to worry about prying ethereal eyes, but the office was cramped and messy. There wasn’t a floor as much as a large extended bookshelf with a throw rug. The desk was neat enough to work on, he supposed, but then he would notice the many-years-out-of-date desktop computer Aziraphale used to do his taxes— just to do his taxes— tucked into the corner, and he had to evacuate. The rest of the shop was old fashioned and crowded, but there was an aesthetic to it.

The office though, that was just unbridled chaos.

He wouldn’t have even come in, but the angel had won the bet and that meant not having to come in here to fetch the emergency back up corkscrew Aziraphale was sure was hidden away in one of his desk drawers for when he couldn’t find the one in the back room or the other in the kitchenette.

In retrospect, Crowley supposed, they could have miracled one up, but he was already here.

He shuffled around in the first drawer: nice pens, small notepads… desk things. “Of course, why would it be easy?” he grumbled, crouching down to open the second one. It was mostly personalized store stationary, but a box towards the back looked like it was a promising size. Crowley plucked it out of the drawer and pulled the cover off with fluid, hopeful movements.

“Huh.”

He pursed his lips and stood back up, placing the box on the desk before picking one of the dark feathers out and turning it over in his hand a few times.

“Huh…” he repeated.

“What took you so long?” Aziraphale chided with a smile on his lips and a bottle of wine in his hand when Crowley finally came back.

“Well you hid the damn thing.”

“I did no such thing,” he held out a hand for Crowley to place the corkscrew in before the demon leaned against the side of the sofa with crossed arms an an expression Aziraphale couldn’t quite read.

“Something on your mind, my dear?”

Crowley paused for a moment. “Er… Why do you have some of my feathers in a box in your desk?”

“Oh I— ” Aziraphale froze, cork half out of the bottle. “Uh. You saw— Are those yours? I just — ”

“Where did you uh— get them, anyway?” his expression was almost playful over layers and layers of awkward.

“Honestly?” The angel sighed, fidgety hands back to opening the bottle and reaching for the first wine glass. “I was giving my wings a little attention— ”

“Mmm, so five— ten years ago?”

“Excuse me, sir. Anyway, one of them was tangled up in mine. It’s happened a few times.”

“And you kept them,” Crowley raised an eyebrow. Aziraphale refused to look in his direction. “In a box. In your office."

Aziraphale blew out a breath before picking up one of the full glasses and handing it off. “I did keep them, yes.”

“Why?”

“What would you have had me do, throw them away?”

“Ngk— Well… no.” Crowley looked into his glass as the liquid swirled around a few times. “Just didn’t think it’s the sort of thing you’d be… y’know. Sentimental about.”

“Yes. Well.” Aziraphale didn’t have an answer. Crowley was right, of course. It was a silly thing to keep, like a lock of hair, and yet they’d felt like gifts from the universe, somehow. Keepsakes of rendezvous that the two of them hadn’t even been aware of. It would have felt wrong to dispose of them unceremoniously. “I suppose I’m sentimental, then.”

Crowley drummed on his arm a few times and pulled himself away from the sofa to his full height. “Uhhhh you— I have something in the Bentley, I guess. To show you.”

“All right then…” Aziraphale let out very slowly, putting his wine glass down. “Lead the way.”

There was a single nod and a series of quick, almost springy step out to the curb. Aziraphale clasped his hands in front of him as he watched the demon open his drivers side door and crouch down to reach under his seat.

“I— Nck… There it is. I’ve had this in here for a little while. Not— not a hundred years or anything. But... y’know. A while.”

When he stood back up and turned there was a box in his hands, not dissimilar in size or shape to the one Aziraphale had kept hidden away all these years.

“So.” Crowley handed it over. “Yeah.”

Aziraphale blinked in knowing amusement and endearment and clicked open the small latch on the treasure he had been handed.

Three feathers rustled in the early evening breeze, off-white grey and splintered in a few places and unmistakable.

“I didn’t think this was the sort of thing you’d be sentimental about,” the angel flashed tight, off center smile.

“Y— Yeah.”

**

Aziraphale still isn’t entirely sure where angel wings go when they aren’t out in the world, but after six thousand years he’s accepted that some things aren’t supposed to be known, even to them. If he were to guess, he’d assume that somewhere, two pairs of wings were waiting, comfortably intertwined. He would be right.

**Author's Note:**

> Huge thanks to BuisnessSocks (here & Melerella on Twitter) and Ch0c0lateFr0g for the prompt, talk throughs, general fandom chats and especially the beta reading. There were a bunch of fic prompts and we basically just claimed and got to it and if you have the opportunity to join a weird fanfiction thinktank, do that thing. It's a lot of fun!  
Thank you to affectionatetea & cosmicblue beta reading and commentary and generally being good good writing buds.
> 
> As always, feel free to come be my friend on  
Tumblr at CallMeHabie  
Instagram at Habie_Cosplays (I'm working on lots of fun cosplays) &  
Twitter at Habie_Cosplays.  
Tell me the fic sent you, I'll love it!  
I also have a linktree, which may be a ton easier to navigate. ---> https://linktr.ee/habie_cosplays


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